


Coming Home

by calypsid



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Porn, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calypsid/pseuds/calypsid
Summary: Elissa Theirin finally finds her way home, and needs a proper homecoming.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta.

There's a soft noise by the door. At one point in his life, that would have been enough to bring him out of bed at the ready, sword in hand, but now – well, he cranes an eye open to see if it's Zevran, who takes an inordinate amount of pleasure in sneaking into the royal bedchamber just to see if he can, or his valet.

He has a _valet_. It's disgusting.

"Is this how you greet everyone who sneaks into your quarters at three in the morning?"

He knows that voice.

He's moving before his mind even really processes what's going on, rolling out of bed and onto bare feet, staring across the room at his wife.

Maker, she looks _fantastic_. Her hair's longer, twisted up in the back, and her armor's hard-worn, but she's whole and clean and grinning at him, leaning hard against their bedroom door, as if she's only just stepped out for the milk and not been gone for _years_.

He's wide awake now, but still he wants to pinch himself, just in case. "Liss?" His voice shakes a little, but he's beyond caring.

She laughs and flings herself at him, landing against his chest with a thud he hears less with his ears and more with his body.

He catches her. Of course he does. He'll always catch her.

She wraps herself around him, her legs around his waist, her hands cradling his face as she kisses him and kisses him until his head spins, surrounded by the smell of her that he'd half forgotten. "Liss," he groans, startling himself with how husky and ragged his voice has gotten.

"I _missed_ you," Elissa says, stroking his face with her hands. "Oh, Alistair..." She laughs again. This time it sounds like a sob. "I missed you so much."

He knows for a fact that he can support her with one firm hand on her ass, so he does, wrapping the other around the back of her neck to pull her mouth back down to his. He's missed her, too, more than words can tell; he tries to show her that without words, with just his mouth on hers, his hands, his breathing. She clutches at him, her legs tightening, like she's trying to climb inside of him and live there – and Maker, he'd _let_ her, because then she'd never be able to leave him again –

That thought makes him rip his mouth away, breathing hard like he's been running. "Did you find it?" he demands.

She blinks at him, and normally he'd be pleased in a smug way about the haze in her eyes but right now he just wants her to _think_. "Yes," she says, as if she's surprised at her own answer. Then she lights up all over, grinning so hard and huge that he has to grin back, delighting in her joy. "Oh – yes! Alistair, I found it! It's – "

Elissa twists away from him, looking for something, but he doesn't care anymore. Everything he needs is right here in his arms. He drags her face back around and kisses her, kisses the words right out of her mouth and the surprise, too.

She found it, and she came home, and she's _here_ – she's not leaving him again. He can't live without her anymore. He'll beg, if he has to, or go with her. Anything.

Her breathing is coming faster, and for that matter, so is his. He stumbles backward, just one step before the bed hits the back of his legs, and then he sits right on the bed, dropping her into his lap. She clutches his shoulders as her legs part around his hips, gasping into his mouth.

He really wants her leathers gone, now. Immediately. _Yesterday_. He thinks hard at her, hoping for a long moment that he can strip her with willpower alone – wouldn't _that_ be a convenient magical talent? – but he's forced to admit defeat. He can't stop kissing her, though. Maker, he'd missed this, the heat of her mouth and her ass in his hands, the little moans she makes as his fingertips slide closer and closer to the heat between her legs. He has to force himself to let go so he can make a start on the clasps and buckles that hold her vest together.

She laughs into his mouth, low and sensual, and laughs again when he shivers, goose pimples prickling all over his skin.

He needs to get his hands on her, right now, or he'll go mad. Her vest is laced up the front – what he wouldn't give for a dagger in his hand right now – and he yanks ferociously at the ties until she laughs again and gives him one great shove that puts him right on his back.

"Let me," she says, laughing, silhouetted in the moonlight, _beautiful_. "If you knot my strings, I'll kill you, and then where will we be?" Alistair narrows his eyes at her, bracing himself on his elbows. He's half a mind to go for the knife under his bedside table, no matter what she says; but her fingers are commendably quick on her straps and buckles and laces, and it's not long before her vest gapes open in the front. The shirt underneath is of lawn, soft and fine, so fine that he can see the shadows of her breasts, the small dot that is her belly button, the curve of her waist.

He swallows.

She shrugs off the vest, letting it fall to the ground, then drags the shirt over her head and drops that off the bed, too. She's thinner than she was, harder, and he can see more than one new scar just on her torso. His heart clenches at the idea of her in combat without him, without his shield between her and her enemies. Maker knows, and so does he, that she can protect herself without any help from anyone else, but... He clenches his hands into fists. _She's alive_ , he tells himself. _Stop borrowing trouble_.

Her skin is flushed with more than just heat. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath she takes, and as he watches, her nipples start to harden, drawing her breasts tighter with every moment.

Had he truly forgotten how beautiful she is?

He reaches out – he can't help it – and lays his hand on her waist, the precise point where her side forms that beautiful curve, and for a moment, he just waits for... something. To wake up, maybe, or for one of the guards to burst in screaming about druffaloes, or lightning from the heavens. He's still half-convinced that this is a dream.

A moment passes, and then another. Liss raises an eyebrow at him, but he shakes his head, because he doesn't want to explain his thought processes right now, at least not that one. It sounds crazy and possibly self-pitying. How can he possibly be pitying himself with his half-naked wife cozied up in his lap?

"I missed you," Alistair says softly, because it feels important to say it out loud. He hasn't yet. "I missed you every damned day." He slides his hand up her side. His thumb brushes the underside of her breast, prompting a soft noise from the back of her throat. He'd almost forgotten that little noise, and how much he loves it. He strokes her again just to hear it, to watch her eyes flutter against the pleasure.

His wife grins at him, propping herself up with her hands on his stomach. If she slid down just a little... "And at night?"

"Maker, _especially_ at night," Alistair groans. He'd sustained himself with fantasy and a few of her smalls that still carried a scent – not that he'll ever admit that last part, not under any circumstances – but nothing compares to her truly being here, laughing, vivid, all bright eyes and affection.

She leans down, planting her elbows by his ears, trapping him in the cage of her body. Her breasts are pressed tight against his chest. It's a soft, cushy kind of heaven. "You're at my mercy now, _your majesty_ ," she says triumphantly. 

Alistair laughs. "I can't believe you think I'd mind." He settles his hands on her hips, pinning her in place. For a second he just luxuriates in the feel of her, the curve of her hips under his hands, her weight on his cock. He presses her down, against his cock. He fancies that he can feel the wet heat of her through her clothes and his sleep pants. She gasps. Her mouth comes down on his, and he lets her in, kissing deeply, desperately, as she grinds against him.

They settle into a hard, rocking rhythm, one that sends a thrill up his spine with every movement of her hips against his cock. He can feel her tight little nipples dragging across his chest, branding him with her body like he doesn't already belong to her. She feels so good in his arms. The heat between them is unbelievable, sinks down into his bones and fills him up until she's all he can feel.

They're both still half-clothed. _Maker_. He's not about to spend in his pants like a teenager. He rolls them, putting Elissa on her back. She's clinging to him, her legs sliding around hers, putting him exactly where he wants to be, between her thighs. He's had dreams like this. He grinds against her once more – he can't help it, not when she's moaning like that, when she _feels_ like that – and then he gets hold of himself, pushing up onto his hands to crouch over her. She stares down her body at him, flushed and panting, which does really incredible things for her breasts. 

How is he supposed to think about clothes _now_?

He bends his head and licks his way up her left breast to the nipple. She cries out when he finally gets there, teasing her with rough licks of his tongue. She gets her fingers in his hair and presses his face into her chest. He laughs silently against her skin, but she must feel him doing it because she digs her nails into his scalp.

Joke's on her; he likes it. His cock could pound nails right now. 

He settles down for some serious quality time with her breasts. Maker, she smells _amazing_ here, like she only does after hard work, rich, sweaty, and intense. He could live here forever, right here, with his mouth on her breast, provoking her into making those soft little noises that drive him crazy.

Of course, his queen isn't exactly the shy and retiring sort. She pulls him back by the hair and he groans. He'll never admit how much he likes it when she manhandles him, though he thinks she probably knows already. "Pants," she says, staring at him. Her eyes are huge and dark in her face. " _Now_." 

He ducks his head and rubs his chin over her tight nipple, grinning when she makes that noise. "But I'm so comfortable where I am."

Elissa's hand tightens in his hair. "Alistair Theirin, so help me – "

He lunges forward to kiss her again, lightly, and then rolls off her and shoves his pants down, kicking them the rest of the way off. That takes him about five seconds, so he can roll onto his side and watch her sit up, curl over her knee and methodically unlace the first of her knee-high boots.

It's a funny thing. He wants her so badly that the top of his head is liable to blow right off if he's not careful, but that's a distant, unimportant thing compared to the way he wants to trail his finger down the curve of her spine right down to her waistband just to feel her skin, the bumps of her spine. She shivers when he gets to the hollow of her back, and that makes his hand linger, tracing tiny circles on her skin.

"That is not _helping_ ," Elissa says from between clenched teeth. And it's true that her fingers are not quite so steady as they could be, nor is her breathing. 

"I could get down on my knees and take them off for you," Alistair says, his voice perfectly steady, his attention wholly consumed by his fingers. He sweeps them down a little lower every time, inching toward her waistband. "Except I think you like those boots. If I come down there, I _will_ cut them off."

"Don't you _dare_ – " She wrestles the boot off her foot and tosses it aside, attacking the laces on the other side. 

She's not ticklish, so Alistair feels safe enough expanding his range. He meanders in the general direction of her side, taking his time and making sure he touches every inch of her along the way. He's not possessive, not in that way, but he has a desperate need for her to smell like _them_ , not just herself, to erase the years and miles of distance that's kept them apart for so long. He traces the waistband of her pants... and then he inches them down, slowly revealing her hip, the top of her leg, and the beginning of the long crease that leads inward. 

He leans forward and puts his mouth on her skin, just breathing her in for a moment. Her skin has always smelled like sheer bliss to him. 

"You are," she says to him in a tight voice that sounds to Alistair like she's trying not to laugh, " _Very_ distracting."

"Oh, I can be distracting," Alistair murmurs against her skin. He puts his mouth on her, sucking light little kisses into her skin. 

Alistair hears the _thwack_ before he realizes what it is, the sound of something snapping. Elissa swears, long and loud. 

"Fuck it," she says between her teeth. He lifts his head to see her cutting the last of the lace from her boot. One end is markedly shorter than the other. She must have snapped it. 

Though where she pulled the knife from he's no idea. Alistair's been finding knives hidden in the weirdest places for years.

She yanks off her boot and throws it across the room, hard. Then she shimmies off the bed, smacking him in the face with her hip on the way. Alistair groans and rolls over to lay on his back in defeat. And pain. That woman packs a punch.

"You deserved nothing less," Elissa says. She sounds amused, cruel woman that she is, but she kisses it better when she climbs back up onto the bed and settles on his stomach. His hands come to rest on her waist automatically, like they belong there. 

She's naked now. The first sight of her – she takes his breath away. She always has. He drags his hands down, over her hips and the outside of her thighs just to feel her skin. She's wet against his stomach. Once he notices that, he can't stop himself from completing the journey, mapping her inner thighs with his hands until his thumbs rest just outside of her bits. He traces her folds, listening to her breathing, her soft noises, the shift of her hips when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. She's so hot here that he feels like they're burning together in the pyre. Everything in him has narrowed down to her, to his fingertips on her and the sound of her voice. 

She groans, leaning down to kiss him hard, pressing her breasts against him again. She rubs her nipples against his chest. "Alistair," she gasps. The way she sounds, the desperate, greedy note to her voice, short-circuits his brain altogether. He slides one thumb up to circle her clit in small, smooth motions. Elissa moans right out loud. "I thought of you all the time," she says, resting her forehead on his. She's so close that he can watch her eyelashes flutter when he does something particularly nice. "I got off every night to the thought of your hands – " 

Alistair slides his first finger inside of her, slowly, cruelly making her wait for each inch. Her eyes aren't tracking anymore. She's got her hands in his hair and her nails in his scalp, but she's just holding on. She's so tight, so tense, that every little movement of his fingers makes her twitch, makes her gasp and grind down for more.

"Just like that?" he says, his voice rough. He loves watching her face while he gets her off. When his cock's inside of her, he's too distracted by how good she feels to pay her the kind of attention he really wants to. But like this, he can watch her eyes, taste her breathing, feel every tremble of her body. 

"More," she says hoarsely. 

He fucks her with his fingers, slow and steady even though her hips are rolling against his hands, keeping a pace for her that ratchets the tension in her body ever higher. 

"I thought of the way your face looks when you fuck me," she says. She's watching him, too, with a focus that only falters when she can't keep her eyes open. "I got off to it so many times, Maker, _Alistair_ – the way you smell, the way you taste, every fucking thing I was going to do to you when I got home..."

His lady wife has quite an imagination. He hopes she can be persuaded to repeat that list for him later. She's so close. He can see it in her eyes, feel it in the tightness of her body over his. She bites her lip and holds him tight as she comes, and comes hard.

Alistair is so turned on that he can feel his pulse throbbing in his cock. A stiff breeze would set him off right now. But he strokes her through her climax, watching the tiny muscles around her eyes and mouth for signs that she's had enough. If he's lucky he can send her right back up, or sometimes keep it going until she can't stand it another second. 

Those times are some of his fondest memories.

She takes a deep, shaky breath, the tension melting out of her face like water. Her body relaxes, too. She's soft now, languid and lax, his own personal blanket.

"I forgot how good you are at that," she says. She smiles at him. Reluctantly Alistair slows his fingers; he's missed the mark this time.

Damn it.

He can't quite convince himself to stop stroking her, though, and if she's a bit sensitive now, she's not saying anything. _Thank the Maker._ Her breasts press against his chest more tightly for a moment when she sighs. He swallows. He can ignore his cock all he likes, but it's missed her as much as he has, and she's warm and wet in his arms. Elissa only has to push up a little bit to reach up and kiss him. He helps her when he realizes what she's doing, pulls her to him with a sharp jerk that seals their mouths with a force he hadn't expected. 

She kisses him for a long time, gently at first, slow and soft like her body; he's content enough to let her, though it's a struggle not to pour every ounce of what he wants from her into her mouth. He runs slow and restless hands over the smooth roundness that forms her ass, her sides and back, thumbs the jut of her hipbones. She kisses him a little deeper, curls over him almost protectively. At least, that's what it feels like.

_Ah, love._

"You're always so patient," she whispers, searching his face. Her eyes are bright, and satisfied, and happy. This is all he's ever wanted, her in his arms, looking like that. "I think patience like that deserves to be rewarded."

She kisses him once more and then pushes up, slides back and lifts herself up in one smooth movement before taking the head of his cock inside herself.

Alistair is caught between two powerful impulses; he _has_ to watch her take the rest of his cock, watch her head tip back and her lips part and her hands clench on her thighs. But he also has to close his eyes and just _feel_ the hot, wet depths of her sliding down around him. Just the first feel of her is enough to make him lose his fucking mind. She _always_ makes him want her like this, like madness. 

She controls her descent just with her legs, with the muscles in her thighs; Alistair puts his hands on her so he can feel the muscles like iron underneath her skin. She could probably crush his head with her thighs, if she really wanted to; he's twisted enough to find that impossibly hot.

She comes to rest on him with a choked moan, her hands on his chest supporting her weight; her eyes are closed. She's breathing hard. So is he. It's an effort not to buck under her and take control because all he wants at the moment is _more more more_ , but she's not ready, and that's enough to make him wait. But, oh, Maker, the _feel_ of her is even better than he remembers, like it's too good for his mind to completely take in. She's tighter than he remembers, slick and warm from her climax, and he just... She feels like home. He holds on to her. That's all he can do. 

The urge to move is ever rising. "Liss," he says like a prayer, doing his level best to keep a hold on himself. He runs his hands up and down her legs to do _something_. 

Her eyes still closed, Elissa starts to grind, working his cock with sharp, shallow movements. She's setting a gentle rhythm that paradoxically calms him, pulls him back from the edge. He's glad of it. He wants to last a little while, at the very least; he doesn't want this to end. 

Oh, fuck, she feels so _good_. He lifts her, just an inch, only to let her drop again. He drives his hips up to meet her. She groans, slumping a little over him, and even in the midst of the haze he notices that she's tired. 

_She must have been riding all night to get here –_

Without hesitation he leans up to grab her and roll them over, putting him on top. It drives him harder into her, deeper; she cries out, arching against him, and oh the sweet pressure and the heat of her body – Alistair can't help thrusting again, seating himself exactly where he belongs. Every part of him is taut, tense, his balls drawn up tight against his body. He can't stop fucking her. He doesn't want to. Thank the maker, Elissa's there, too, moaning out loud, meeting his thrusts with great movements of her hips. 

With the very last of his rational thought he works his hand between them and rubs his thumb hard over her clit.

" _Alistair!_ " she cries out. She clutches at him, wrapping herself around him, and the wet heat of her body clamps around his cock – oh, Maker, she's coming, and so is he, pouring every inch of his life and his love and his energy into her body.

Oh. Oh, _yes_. 

There's nothing left in him but his breath, now. He's all emptied out, clean, but for the first time in years, he's not alone. 

Alistair tries not to collapse right on top of her, though he dearly wants to, and keeps an elbow between himself and the bed. He pulls his hand free and licks his fingers clean. The taste of her, the thought of where that hand's been, is enough to spark a little in his mind, but his body is not listening. Truthfully, he's too old for another round.

"Mmm," Elissa says. He looks down to find that she's watching him, a lazy, satiated smile on her face. Maker, she's beautiful. She's running her hands up and down his back lightly in a way that almost tickles. "What a welcome home."

Alistair kisses her. Without the desperate need of earlier, it's softer, lingering; he can't help smiling against her mouth. He drops his forehead against hers. "I love you." _Thank you for coming back to me_. 

She tugs him down on top of her; he's pressing her into the bed with his weight, but she doesn't seem to mind. "I love you," she says, echoing him, and then she grins. "Your majesty."

Alistair groans.

They proceed through the messy business of disentangling, and he fetches a cloth for her to clean up, and then finally they can slip under the covers. Elissa immediately shoves herself over and rests her head on his shoulder; with his arm around her, and hers slung over his stomach, they're comfortably entangled for the rest of the night. She can't get up without waking him.

Alistair almost believes he's not dreaming now. She'll be here when he wakes up, tomorrow and every morning after that – and there will be so many more of them than he thought, because she found the cure that means they can grow old together. 

As he slides toward full sleep, he reminds himself firmly that he _must_ get up before she does – he has to replace her smalls before she wakes up. She would never, ever let him hear the end of it. Ever.

He pulls her sleepy, pliant body closer to him, closes his eyes, and smiles.


End file.
